


Stay With Me

by miraeth



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Season 3 Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 20:36:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5104907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraeth/pseuds/miraeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can almost imagine those fingers over him, tracing every dent and curve in his body and then engulfing him in a warm embrace. Hands stretching out its arms to a broad, inviting chest, and thin lips press gently on his temple. He can almost feel a hot breath on his curled hair, a whisper of his name filled with longing and love that matches his own.</p><p>Almost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay With Me

**Author's Note:**

> 'Stay With Me' by Danity Kane inspired me to write this at 12 am in the morning and gawd I have somewhere to be later today but I needed to get the feels out. (How did I not hear this song sooner?!) It's just great and I was listening to that on repeat as I wrote this.
> 
> Also, I got sorta sleepy midway so if it may seem a bit weird... you know why. Hopefully it's not TOO bad, though. XD

It’s cold. Will doesn’t bother to turn on the heater, allowing the cold chill to seep into his fingers and caress him. A phantom touch poorly able to substitute the warm hands he desires. But it’s good enough.  It’s all he has.

Blue eyes travel through the rain pouring heavily out his window. Droplets of water thrash atop the pane sounding like long, elegant fingers briskly tapping on a mahogany desk.

And as his lashes flutter close he can almost imagine it as so. Almost imagine those fingers over him, tracing every dent and curve in his body and then engulfing him in a warm embrace. Hands stretching out its arms to a broad, inviting chest, and thin lips press gently on his temple. He can almost feel a hot breath on his curled hair, a whisper of his name filled with longing and love that matches his own.

Will opens his eyes and he returns to reality, to the present. He’s in an unlit apartment, sitting on the sill of a tall but narrow window in the living room. It’s a small decent place, rented in the last minute but clean. And he was content to see that it was already furnished, though not by much. A single bed, a long couch, and a few tables and chairs stood around. Almost like a motel, except without the TV – not that _that_ mattered. He cared little for television entertainment. These past few months had covered it.

 _‘Going my way?’ Hannibal asked, looking up at him from the driver’s seat. One’s gaze locked on the other. And Will took his time to assess his options,_ their _options, though they both knew clearly well what he would choose in the end._

Will _had_ wondered what would have become of them had they not gone where they did. Had they not stayed in Hannibal’s old cabin, waiting for Dolarhyde like sheep-clothed wolves in a small field of green pasture.

It wasn’t the first time, nor would it truly be the last, that he’d think to himself ‘What if?’

What if they hadn’t waited to kill Dolarhyde? What if Will hadn’t thrown them both off the cliff and they’d gotten back in the car and escaped the FBI together? Like they were supposed to all those years ago. Like they both had _wanted_ to.

He had put this all on himself, Will knows. And he had good intentions on doing so.

_‘If you don't kill him, you're afraid you're going to become him.’_

Dolarhyde was his chance to finally end Hannibal. Will didn’t – _couldn’t_ trust to do it himself.

_‘My compassion for you is inconvenient, Will.’_

A small, self-mocking smile tugs on his lips and he lets out a quiet, dry laugh, leaning his head back to look up at the plain ceiling. _You and I both_.

But he pulled it off in the end, didn’t he? He was able to finally put the Chesapeake Ripper down. Saved the world of a terrible, cannibalistic, luxury-loving, beautiful man…

With himself in suit.

It was the second time they’d held themselves in each other’s arms. Both battered and bruised in a loving embrace after the deed.  It was a glimpse of a future for the both them. And it was the most beautiful moment of Will’s life. The most clarified.

_‘I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.’_

A declaration, a truth of how much Hannibal had carved within him to make a home for himself. He resides there, always. In the back of Will’s thoughts, in his peripheral vision.  Hannibal was his beacon of light. Chasing away the doubts, the uncertainties, and always illuminating a path to him. And Will had always followed. He’d followed, but never reached. He couldn’t.

And that was why he drowned them both.  Why he lunged for the clashing sea, head buried in all that was Hannibal. It was the only way they could be together, in that life.

So even after all the times he’d imagined another path he’d have taken, Will would always return to reality and find that he regrets nothing.

With a shaky breath from the chill, Will casts a final glace out the window, the rain far from ceasing its endless tears, before turning on his heels and walking into the hallway. His bedroom door stands in the middle at the far end and it takes him less than eight steps to reach the knob and twist it open.

A dim orange light pours in from within and he finds the cause pretty quickly. The bed stands right before him against the wall, a small bedside table beside its left with a lamp on top. A figure sits upright on the bed underneath two layers of blanket with a book in hand. Maroon eyes lift from the pages to see him enter and close the door behind him.

“One could argue this routine of yours is very unhealthy, Will.”

“What, taking time to myself?”

“For an excessive amount of time at the most unethical of times.” Hannibal adds, putting the book down on the table. “It’s three in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep.” Will admits, feeling slightly embarrassed at the confession. To his benefit, Hannibal hums understandingly and doesn’t venture on further. Instead, he lifts one side of the blankets.

Will can’t help the curve of his lips at the invitation but he points out, “We won’t fit.”

Hannibal only moves a bit more to the side, “The question of fitting is subject to angle.”

Will laughs. A bubble of genuine amusement rolling from his throat after the grimness of recent events. It eases his shoulders and Hannibal himself smiles. He gives in, nodding his head, and crawls beside him. Hannibal shifts to lie on the side and Will follows the action so that they were facing each other, faces only inches away and chests brushing lightly against each other.

He takes the chance to take in the other's face, absently recalling the exchange with Dr. Du Maurier and repeating, “Can’t live with you, can’t live without you.” He purses his lips as the words process more carefully in his mind, “That’s… that’s why I did it.”

It doesn't take long for Hannibal to understand Will’s train of thought and his expression soften slightly. He encircles his arms around him and Will slowly leans into the warmth. “Our lives up till the present have all but become shadows in the dark, brought to a blank once more. We are able to draw upon it once more.”

“A new beginning.” Will mulls.

"Where would you begin, Will?" Hannibal asks and Will nuzzles into the other’s soft attire, breathing in a memorized scent. His eyes finally drift close.

“With you.”

* * *

Rays of sunlight peaks inside and illuminates the room, stirring Will from sleep.

He opens his eyes slowly, taking his time to process his surroundings and recall his state as he straightens in his seat. His back hurts. For the remainder of the night, Will had been crouching on a chair he’d dragged from the kitchen and though he’d brought the couch into the bedroom (to sleep on) as well, he wanted to be as close to Hannibal as he could. To hold onto him as he waited for another night to turn to day.

Will’s eyes fall to the unconscious man on the bed. His face is pale but he looks almost content. Trailing his gaze up, he sees the IV bag only one-third full. Will would need to refill it later, perhaps this afternoon. He needs to get a few more things as well. But for now, he won’t move. He’ll simply sit here hand intertwined with the other’s, limp as it is. And he’ll softly press a kiss on the back of his hand and whisper as he’s always done this past week in a desperate, hoping, _loving_ tone…

“Stay with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I HOPE that made sense? If it didn't, I apologize ;-;


End file.
